Progress
by jester1984
Summary: Raphael struggles when there are no more enemies but maybe he doesn't really understand himself.


The sewer tunnel dripped with dark water. The mottled brick and crumbling cement highlighted by the reflection of the torch bouncing off the wetness. He could feel the tickling trickle slosh over his calves as he waded through the calm river that decorated the bottom of the pathway. The motion, like cool air after a heaving sickness, slipped through the gap of his toes as he swaggered home.

For all of his twenty-six years he had lived in the shadows; always on the periphery vision of societal norms - an outcast through necessity rather than want. Sometimes it enraged him to the point where his pulse exploded through his capillaries, making his body burn and shake with fevered heat where nothing but the unfairness of forced isolation existed. Escaping his confinement and defying all regulations by running over the rooftops like the best street runner was the only thing that focused that rage: a good street brawl the only thing that dissipated it.

Pausing he rested his back against the curve of the wall, slipped the torch in his belt and removed a rolled cigarette from under his bandana. The spark of his lighter would have revealed to any fly-on-the-wall a spray of freckles across a broad flat nose, a wide mouth with slight lips and flat teeth, and leaf-green skin. He inhaled most of the cigarette in one breath, held it to feel the burn, before slowly pushing the breath out through gritted teeth and snarled lips. It wasn't due to any remaining anger but simply because he could watch the smoke escape through multiple points in his smile.

His knuckles were swollen and bloody but he was used to that kind of pain. The crick in his neck however was new, and he brought a calloused large hand to rub at his nape and shoulder. The rest of his body was heavy with fatigue but his mind was relaxed and listless. One more breath and the glowing stub was thrown in the water but he did not move off the wall. Instead he stood, vision focusing on a broken brick directly in front of him but without thinking of it at all. What he was actually thinking about was the argument he had had earlier with his brother.

It had been over the usual nothing and escalated into a frustrated something. The indeterminable tension accentuated by the vulnerability he felt when acknowledging that his brother could deal with things so much better than himself. He knew he was lucky to even have anything close to family considering the fact that by he was a 'freak' that should either by dissected and displayed as a museum piece, or hunted down like Frankenstein's monster. His 'family' may be unusual to look at but it still functioned with all the love/hate rivalry of siblings and all the respect/resentment of parental stipulations. He was all grown up but in many ways he was still growing as he had never had the circumstances of growth that many children and teenagers go through when exploring themselves and determining who they are and what they will be.

Many of his questions would always go unanswered. He would never know whether he had talent for music due to the strange configurations of his fingers making him unable to play most instruments. He would never know if he was a good kisser because his lips were too thin and unyielding to be truly comfortable conforming to a soft woman's softer mouth – that is of course if he was ever in a situation when a woman didn't run off screaming like a harridan in a cheap 1950's monster movie. It naturally followed that he would never know whether he could be a good father or husband. Most of his dreams and flights of fantasy had been slowly pushed into a locked recess deep in his mind and heart so as to escape the self-imposed torture of the 'what if...?' scenario.

Occasionally though these feelings, these regrets, these wishes and wants would cause his head to hurt and his heart to inflate like a bag too full of water. His methodology to contain his rage included intense focus on improving his muscle strength: placing the anger on a point of a punching bag with his fists, knuckles coming below where the imagined nose of his attacker would be, again and again and again. Eventually the pressure would not be sated by focused boxing practices and would cause him to lash out irrationally at his family. His family in turn would, for the most part, tolerate his outbursts because they understood the reasons behind it even if he never discussed anything with them. His sleep patterns would disappear to be replaced by nightmares impossible to remember in wakefulness, besides overwhelming fear and a desire to run away - leading into self-induced insomnia by acquiescing to that desire.

Ultimately he couldn't escape and the fraying knots of his sanity would snap under the self-imposed pressure and the endless irritable unapproachableness would wear his elder brother to the point of confrontation and a full blown battle of wills. His brother would reprimand, restrict, reason and ratify but even his specialised control would rescind into altercation with wounded pride, wounded feelings, resentment and exasperation. Infuriated madness would descend into physical escapism as he ran away from his brother, away from the fight and over the rooftops of the city.

When the come down came he was usually covered in the blood of a mugger or rapist that decided to pick that night to indulge in their fetishes and instead became his new punching bag. He never heard the crunch of bone or the squish of pulverised flesh when surrendering to the obliterating frenzy that occurred when his internal dam inevitably burst. When the storm passed and he was breathing heavily with the exertion, the air leaving a chill on the heated sweat coating his skin, he would call an ambulance for the trembling bloody mass at his feet before fleeing back to the rooftops. There was one building in particular that was high enough to faintly view the stars but not so high that he couldn't watch over the city. He would sit staring at the sky waiting for the guilt to wash over him but not feeling surprised when it never did. The stars would wink at him in acceptance and understanding, and his aching soul was soothed by the knowledge that these stars existed centuries before him and would still exist long after his end. When the atmosphere began to turn pink and orange with the coming of another day of the same-old-same-old he would swing down the fire escape and slip into the nearest man hole.

So here he was again leaning on the sewer tunnel trying to think of nothing in particular except the brick on the opposite wall, when he felt the water begin to move around his feet; a rhythmic motion that increased with intensity with each wave indicating someone moving towards him. The quiet slosh of the water would usual alarm but the direction which the swell specified could only be from one source. There was nothing down this sewer tunnel except home. So he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and waited.

The torch shining upwards from his belt made the space behind his right eyelid pink and grey. He felt the mini tide ebb away to be replaced by a shallow ripple. He heard a deep sigh and the slap of a palm on the damp brick. The silence that followed wasn't true silence as another breathing pattern was added to the echo. If he opened his eyes he knew what he would see. His brother would be watching him – observing his bleeding knuckles, his relaxed breathing and the way the torch light illuminated his facial profile. The look of intense yet passive contemplation would tell him that his brother wanted to speak to him yet couldn't think of any new words to say. The resignation of wanting to soothe his fierce outbursts but not being able to had aged his brother's soul and the strain would show through his tight mouth. Another sigh broke the silence, followed by the scrape of something hard against the wall. The water surged at his feet but it was the light touch of his brother's arm against his that told him he wasn't the only one leaning against the wall.

He waited.

He knew if he waited long enough Leo would stop in his watchfulness and say something, usually in exasperation. It was only in this part of his rage cycle that he knew he could out-patience his brother. He had to control his smirk when he felt Leo's arm twitch and another sigh join the surrounding air. The water began to pulse as Leo tapped his foot beneath the waves. Yet still he waited. It was both the end and beginning. After his release would come Leo's.

"Come on Raph," Leo muttered. "Haven't you got anything to say?"

Raph chuckled – he had won this time. He let his restrained smile play over his face and it only grew wider at the memory of the incredulous look Leo must be giving him for laughing.

When the silence returned much more oppressive than before, he opened his eyes and turned to look at his sibling. Leo's brows were connected in frustration and his gaze was hard. Raph responded by raising his eyebrows and laughing when the gaze didn't soften. Leo shook his head and brought his hand to rub over his brow. Raph noted that his brother's mouth was contorting slightly as if Leo was swallowing – the only sign he would get that Leo was indeed very upset.

"Where have you been?" Leo said quietly. At the back of his voice was something that Raph couldn't immediately identify: a strange kind of creak that was never usually there in these conversations. Leo still held his hand on his brow, shielding his eyes from Raph, his elbow supporting him on the wall, while the other hand was swaying limply by his side.

"You know where I've been."

"No I don't," the answer still had the creak but the overall tone was harsher. "I can guess by your hands what you've been doing but as to where you were is a whole different question."

Raph remained passive but the gnawing guilt that had refused to surface during his star-gazing was now making his stomach sick. Leo moved his hand slightly to rest it over his mouth. His eyes, though softer, were still searching for an answer on Raph's face. The problem was that Raph had no answer to give – at least not to the question that Leo really wanted to ask but never did.

"I looked for you," said Leo plainly. "But you were no where Raph. Then when you didn't come back this morning..." He shook his head to clear the end of the sentence.

Raph was focused back on that brick. He felt Leo's finger run gently over his shoulder encouraging a response. The dark pit in his stomach felt heavier with the gentle kindness. He was used to being rejected from a world that hated him because of what he was, but his family accepted him even when he was at his most cruel. He would find himself wishing that they reciprocated his anger but it was the endless compassion and understanding that made him guilty. Even after an argument Leo would still come looking for him expressing concern.

He turned his head to look at the dark tunnel leading to the streets above, the urge to escape increasing. It was at this motion that he felt his brother forcefully wrap a hand around his bicep.

"Don't you dare." A command pure and uncomplicated. There was no running this morning.

The pressure of Leo's grip eased and Raph felt his brother's thumb rub softly side to side in the heat of his armpit. A tremor ran through him at the unconsciously sensual touch.

"Where were you?" Leo mellifluously asked again. The thumb still swaying in and out of Raph's warm crevice. Raph shook his head but didn't pull himself from Leo's grip.

"Please." Spoken low and soft and closer then before. Raph remained immoveable.

Leo sighed at his brother's continued silence, removing his hand as he did so. It was the withdrawal that made Raph swallow – the thickness of his throat making tears gather but not to fall. Never to fall.

The water moved again and suddenly Raph felt colder.

"Are you coming home?" Leo's voice was echoing like a flashback. Raph looked towards the sound but saw nothing but the black tunnel and the sunspot of his torch on the ceiling. The urge to run was replaced by the need to follow as he realised that his sudden chill was from his brother leaving him behind.


End file.
